


Spiderwebs

by Anyaparadox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Human Castiel, M/M, Marriage, Old Age, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:34:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyaparadox/pseuds/Anyaparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To forget: cease to think of, fail to remember, leave behind, neglect, ignore, abandon, say goodbye to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiderwebs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone On the Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/210785) by [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori). 



> So I wrote this forever ago, finally finished it, gave up on making the tenses perfect and that's literally all she wrote. It's sad and there's some warnings at the end, but if you read them it will seriously spoil so much, so I recommend you don't unless you're nervous!

 

_May_

 

“Dude, come on, have a little fun.” Dean’s voice is pleading, and Castiel could hardly refuse Dean anytime he asked for something. He never had been able to before defeating Lucifer, and if anything, it had only gotten worse in the years since. It was his eyes, which were happier now than they’d been in the first few years he’d known him.Green, surrounded by spiderweb lines and memories; they told stories of laughter and hardships unlike any others.

 “Dean, I am hardly excited by the prospect of frequenting a bar.” Castiel responded, “It has been years since we celebrated by imbibing in dirty establishments.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, I get that, but c’mon Cas, it’s Robby we’re talking about! Twenty one is a _big_ deal, man.”

It certainly was, especially since Castiel could remember Robert’s first steps, and the way Sam had looked when Sarah told him he had a son, and the way Dean had swallowed back tears of absolute fucking pride upon hearing the name. Castiel remembered his giant brown eyes, and the way he had latched onto his finger without any fear, despite the fact that Cas had been juiced on angel power then. He remembered the way Dean had held him far into the night when Robert turned two, and when Cas had whispered the only regret he had was not giving Dean a family, Dean had only murmured ‘ _you have, you have’_. 

He remembered learning to play catch as Robby did, and finding out that being an incredible brother was a Winchester trait, and Robby was no exception when Joanna came into the world. Castiel remembered the first time he held her, and Robby took their picture. 

Castiel had watched him go to school, Joanna following a few years later, and Sam taking a million pictures through all of their soccer games, and stupid Christmas concerts, and their first boyfriends and girlfriends, and break ups. He knew how it felt to have tears of pride choke an all too human throat as Robby graduated high school. Joanna was only five years behind, and Castiel knew he had no time, there was _never_ enough time when you were mortal, and human, and so happy you could explode.

“Robert wishes us to accompany him to the bar for his birthday? Dean, are we ‘cool’ enough, as Jo would say? We are much older than we were.” 

Dean’s green eyes narrowed in irritation, “Cas, I am a total badass. I have been to heaven and hell, and you were an _Angel_. Robby asked for us, he doesn’t care that we’re pushing forty!”

Cas frowned, “Dean, we are hardly forty, I am thousands of years old, and you are nearing fifty-four.”

“And still smoking hot.”

“I shall agree with that.”

Dean chuckled, “Please, Cas? Robby asked for us to be there, I promise.”

Castiel smiled, “Then I suppose we shall acquiesce to his request.”

 “Dude, English. You’re human now, learn to relax.”

Cas frowned, “Jo told me that I was extremely ‘chill’ this week, I’ll have you know.”

Dean grinned lasciviously, “Shall I warm you up?”

Cas sighed, “Dean, I understand that ‘chill’ means relaxed. I am not cold.”

“Offer still stands.” Dean’s grin had yet to fall, and Castiel couldn’t help but lean forward to cover Dean’s mouth with his own. His hand fell onto Dean’s chest without a second thought, the familiarity of his mouth and figure second nature to Castiel. 

Cas pulled back, delighting in the disappointed frown Dean now wore. Age looked good on him, Cas decided, and there was nothing more incredible than seeing a face you loved learn to smile again, and fine lines crawling around his eyes; every new line, every new freckle, each new strand of silver in his hair was another moment of his life that Castiel had been witness to, been part of. 

“Time to go to Robby’s.” Castiel declared.

Dean leaned in and placed a kiss on his shoulder, covered only by a worn grey shirt. “I love you.”

Castiel shut his eyes at the words, as earth shattering and life changing as they had been the first time Dean had ever uttered them. They were rare, especially in the early years when they had all been afraid Lucifer could come back at any moment and rip their tenuous happiness apart. They were less rare now, but no less valued. There was nothing quite as exquisitely beautiful as the way Dean’s voice formed the words, as if it was a question, even after all this time. As if Dean might one day be judged unworthy of the answer, as if it was all a joke, that could be torn away at any moment.

“I love you, too.”

The way he looked at this answer, the one Cas always gave him, was worth everything.

 

 

_June_

 

“Dean, come to bed.”

Dean’s posture was rigid and uncomfortable, hovering over his office desk in the downstairs den. 

“I’m busy.” Dean was so rarely short with him anymore that Cas was surprised at his tone.

Castiel moved forward, “Dean, it’s only some bills, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Dean ignored him, which was also unusual. Castiel wondered if it was something else. Were they in debt? They had been doing well with money, for people who had started saving so late in life.

“Why are you so frustrated?” Castiel slid his hands over Dean’s shoulders. Dean sprung up at the touch and ripped the reading glasses off his face. He was furious, as angry as Castiel had ever seen him, even in the heart of the apocalypse.

“God dammit, leave me alone, I’m just doing the bills.” Dean so rarely blasphemed anymore, as it was one of the few things that Castiel seemed to object to, and Cas was more than taken aback. Dean didn’t reject touch, or casual affection, or company, Dean thrived on it.

“Dean, I don’t-”

“Fuck!” Dean stormed out on him, and it was only the roar of the Impala that told Castiel he had left. In his shock Cas didn’t move, frozen to the spot. He managed to move to the bills Dean had been attempting to deal with, and sat down. He read all of them, every inch, trying to discover what Dean had been so angry about. Nothing seemed out of order at all.

He paid them all, filing them away and cleaning the office, and then went to bed alone for the first time in a long time.

Cas woke the instant Dean opened the bedroom door. He used to wonder if there was still some part of him that was angelic, the way he could sense where Dean was, and what mood he was in. Dean had patiently explained that his sense was really just a part of love, and family. Cas still thought it was a gift.

Dean slipped into bed quietly, but didn’t move from his side to envelop Castiel as he normally would.

“Dean.” Cas murmured.

Dean sighed, “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel frowned, “What was so distressing about our bills? Are we in debt?”

“No, I just-- well, I just was annoyed at working it all out. Couldn’t remember what we bought at some stores, and the math-- I’m just not an accountant, okay?”

“You can ask me, if you needed help.”

Dean rolled over, away from him. “I get that, I just got mad. Not at you. I’m sorry for freaking out, kay?”

“Okay.” Cas agreed, but Dean didn’t move from his side.

 

 

 

_July_

 

Castiel enjoyed cooking. It had been a surprise, initially, that he had been any good at it at all, but apparently paying meticulous attention to recipes came in handy. Now, he had memorized all of his favorite recipes, and it wasn’t hard to predict what ingredients could improve upon recipes, or even create new ones. Dean loved his cooking, and Castiel loved Dean’s appreciation.

“Smells amazing,” Dean interrupted from the doorway, setting down his bag, “can’t wait for dinner!”

Cas smiled, “Sam is coming over for a bit, apparently Pamela called him today.”

“Who?”

Cas glanced at Dean, who looked confused as he removed his jacket. “Pamela. You know, psychic Pamela.”

Dean scowled, “You mean Missouri?”

Cas stopped stirring his stroganoff and turned to face Dean, who was looking more annoyed by the minute. “No, I mean Pamela. Dean, you can’t honestly forget the poor woman whose eyes I burned out of her head when you all tried to summon me.”

Dean’s stormy expression cleared, “Oh, that Pamela! Gotcha.” He waltzed over and tugged Cas into a kiss, “Love the apron on you, by the way.”

Cas swatted his hands away with a smile, “Go shower, Sam will be here in an hour.”

Dean leaned back in, pressing lips to Cas’ jawline, “Hmmm, an hour is just enough for what I have planned, Mr. Winchester.”

The stroganoff was burned beyond repair, and Castiel couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

 

 

_August_

 

Cas was curled into Dean’s arms on their couch, the TV playing some pointless show in front of them. Dean was interested, but Cas had long since given up trying to listen to the show when Dean’s heartbeat was solid and reassuring in his ear. The rhythm had become something by which Castiel could count on, something that lulled him to sleep every night, and woke him in the morning. 

Dean’s cell buzzed against his back, tucked into his pajamas pocket. Cas frowned at the interruption, and Dean dislodged him from his comfortable position to grab the phone. He relaxed back into the couch, and Cas didn’t hesitate to follow him.

“Hello?” Dean answered. His body stiffened, and Cas heard loud talking through the phone. He sat up, and Dean seemed shocked.

“Sammy? Sammy, what are you-” Green eyes, springing up to meet Cas’ gaze, “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry. I just- I didn’t-” Dean jumped off the couch, “I’m coming now, I’m going, seriously, we’re going. How long was she waiting? Dammit, I’m sorry, I just forgot.”

He hung up, “I was supposed to pick Joanna up from dance, I totally forgot -fuck!- that isn’t like me.”

“Would you like me to come along?” Castiel asked, concerned about Dean’s flustered state.

“No, no, it’s good. I’ll be home when I drop her off, okay? I’ll come to bed then.” Dean was already shrugging on his jacket, keys in the palm of his hand.

“Drive safe.” Cas commanded.

Dean smirked, “Always do, Cas.”

He disappeared, and Castiel turned off the TV as the rumble of the Impala faded away. He made his way to the kitchen and prepared two lunches for the next day; Dean wanted every type of meat he could have on a white bread sandwich, and Castiel generally liked soups in a thermos.

They had a lovely two story house with three bedrooms, one of them the master, one a guest room, and the last used as Dean’s office; they had once planned on the office becoming another bedroom, but after years of failed applications they had eventually added a desk and shut the door when no one was in there. 

The existence of the room that could have been more still ate away at Castiel, but Dean had accepted their childless home without trouble. Cas still wondered sometimes if he had struggled so much because of how badly he had wanted it for Dean, and if Dean had moved on so quickly because of how badly he wanted to make Cas feel better about it.

Still, their house was warm, and Castiel didn’t regret a minute of their life together. Memories of their years greeted him as he passed through the hallway and up the stairs; pictures of smiles and green eyes, blue eyes and kisses. His favourite photo, at the top of the stairs: Cas himself, sitting and rocking baby Robert and staring into his big eyes, and Dean standing behind them with the most incredibly content expression on his face.

He ran his fingers along it and opened their bedroom door, the large bed with rumpled covers greeting him. Cas smiled at the sight, reminded so easily of Dean’s early morning antics, and how easily his kisses had convinced him to be late to work. Cas slid into their softness and wished Dean were beside him so he could curl his cold toes under his legs as he had done a million times before.

Dean woke him when he clambered into bed, and Cas immediately rolled into him, gratified with his body heat.

“Was Jo mad?” He muttered sleepily.

Dean sighed, “No, but I feel damn guilty. I never forget shit like that, family’s important, y’know? You don’t just forget them!”

Cas slid his hands onto Dean’s chest, rubbing soothing circles onto his skin. “Dean, you may be forgiven for this slip up, since you are getting older.”

“You don’t forget things.” Dean accused.

Cas smiled softly, “I was an angel once, you know. Hard to be forgetful when you have hundreds of brothers to remember.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, “I s’pose. Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

 

 

 

_September_

 

 

“I hate this getting old shit.” Dean muttered, slouching farther into the chair.

Castiel smiled faintly at this, “You probably should have eaten less burgers.”

“I didn’t think I would live this long,” Dean retorted, “it’s a pain in the ass.”

Cas tried not to laugh at Dean as he grabbed a magazine from the table beside him, his annoyance plain for everyone in the office to see. Dean hated the doctor, hated hospitals of any form, even if it was simply a check up.

“It is hardly an inconvenience to talk to a doctor every once in a while if it means we may continue to live happily in our house.” Cas reasoned.

Dean glanced at him, and despite the fact that he was frustrated he managed to soften at Castiel’s words. “Yeah, I s’pose. But, seriously, they couldn’t at least put cooler magazines out?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and left Dean to his sulk. Before long his name was called, _Castiel Winchester_ , probably one of his favourite combination of letters in any language, and Cas left Dean to see their family doctor.

Family doctor, something Castiel could have never imagined needing, and something Dean could never have imagined having. A permanent home, a doctor, a job, a family, a husband; these were factors Dean and Castiel could never have considered possible for themselves.

Castiel got a refill on his high blood pressure prescription, and a sheet to request some blood work at the downstairs office. Dean walked out of the office with nothing, and Castiel was both jealous of his health, despite his achy bones, and so grateful he could almost believe in his Father again after all this time.

“Castiel Winchester.” The receptionist called again, and Cas frowned as he walked back to the front desk. “The doctor would like to see you again.”

Cas glanced back at Dean who just waved him away, magazine back in his hand. The hallway seemed shorter this time, and before he knew it he was back in the office of his doctor.

“Castiel.” Dr. Warren’s voice was kind, and Castiel couldn’t help but trust the portly man. 

“Dr. Warren,” Cas greeted, “did I forget something?”

Dr. Warren slid his glasses off his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping him. “Please sit down for a moment, I just have a few questions for you.”

Cas sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. The office, previously blue and cheery, and a menial visit, now seemed more threatening by the moment. Is this why Dean hated hospitals? They were fluctuating, shifting from a healing place to a damned area in seconds.

“Dean didn’t remember when he had his last physical.” Dr. Warren started, “Do you happen to know?”

“About eight months ago? Mid- January I believe, why?” Castiel answered.

Dr. Warren frowned, “Castiel, I am... concerned. About Dean.”

Adrenaline flooded his body, alarms going off everywhere at these words. “Why? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“It is only an observation as of yet, but it is unusual. He seems to be having trouble recalling certain things recently, forgetting information he could once recite in his sleep.”

“He’s older now.” Cas defended.

Dr. Warren nodded, “Of course, and it could be that this is just a symptom of his age, however it is unusual how severely his memory has deteriorated in the past seven months.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel demanded. Panic was hot in the heart of him, his world narrowing down to the doctor’s face, once kindly, now the most terrifying thing Castiel had faced since the apocalypse. 

Perhaps even more frightening, now that he was mortal and helpless, and Dean was even more _fragile_.

“He couldn’t remember his last check up. Castiel, he couldn’t remember my name. I’ve been your doctor for years. I also asked him what his phone number was, his address.”

“He didn’t know?” Cas asked, “He couldn’t remember where _we_ live!?”

Dr. Warren twined his hands together, “He did, eventually. Took him a few minutes.”

Castiel was left reeling; Dean didn’t forget things like his phone number, he was used to having six different ones. He didn’t forget where he lived, especially since he had lived there for the past nineteen years, and it was the only constant home he had ever had.

“Have you noticed any memory gaps? Sudden confusion, or even mood swings? Anger, especially if he had forgotten something?” Dr. Warren’s voice was kind, but every word seemed to drag Castiel further into despair.

Pamela. The bills. Walking into the kitchen, forgetting why. Forgetting Jo. 

Cas sunk his face into his hands, surprised to find his cheeks damp. “What do we do? What do I do?” His voice was muffled.

“Castiel, I’m afraid this could be the early onset of Alzheimer's Disease. Are you familiar with this?”

It took seconds for the information to come to the forefront of his mind, something he had heard about briefly as an angel and stowed away for later use. He had never expected this type of use.

“A degenerative memory disease?” 

“Yes. Dementia will quite often accompany Alzheimer’s. Dean’s memories will eventually fade, and it is possible that delusions will replace them. Some days, it will seem as if nothing is amiss, and he remembers everything, and some days it will be as though he has no memory at all. Eventually, a long term care facility will be a necessity-”

“No.” Castiel threw the word out before the doctor could even finish his statement. “No, Dean does not belong in a _home_. He belongs with me.”

Dr. Warren nodded, “You will have time before that. Dean is only in the mild stage of the process; the information he is forgetting is minimal, not every day necessities.”

“What do you mean, every day necessities?”

Dr. Warren’s voice was brittle, “Alzheimers does not just steal memories of the past, it impedes brain synapses from firing. Common knowledge, such as how to turn on a stove, or where you live, or how to drive, fades with time.”

“I will take care of Dean.”

Dr. Warren nodded. “This is early onset, we seem to have caught it in only the mild beginnings. It’s progressing quickly however, and Dean needs to be notified. Often the awareness of the condition will help to calm confusion when they realize they have forgotten something.”

“No,” Castiel said, desperation in his voice, “Dean will be upset, he will think it’s his fault, he will-” he broke off. Dean would blame himself, would hate himself for forgetting any part of his life. 

Dr. Warren was calm. “Dean needs to know. Usually I would not consult you before telling him, but as it stood I wanted to confirm facts with you. I need to run further tests anyway.”

Castiel barely heard him as he spoke, and he didn’t move as the door opened and Dr. Warren left him alone in the office, retrieving Dean.

Castiel had been confident in the fact that the only thing more painful than losing his wings would be losing Dean. This he had expected; he had known when he became mortal that one day either Dean or himself would die, and it would be the worst thing in the world. The comfort in this fact was that they would see each other again, after their deaths, and Heaven couldn’t -wouldn’t!- dare to keep them apart.

He hadn’t expected the anguish of losing Dean slowly, him fading away day by day right before his own eyes. Still, that was nothing compared to the fact that Castiel knew one day he would wake up, and look into a face that was familiar and beloved to him, and that face would look back and register nothing.

One day, Dean Winchester would forget him.

Castiel heaved a breath and rubbed at his eyes. He was being selfish. He was being foolish. He collected himself as the door opened and Dr. Warren re-entered the room, Dean hot on his heels.

“Cas, you okay?” He was concerned, panicked, and it took Castiel a moment to realize that Dean thought something was wrong with _him_. That he was sick.

“I’m fine,” Cas cleared his throat, “I’m perfectly okay.”

Dean sat down on the chair beside him, his hand finding it’s way to his leg without hesitation. He scowled at whatever expression he saw on Cas’ face, and swivelled to face the doctor.

“What’s going on?” 

Dr. Warren was more collected this time, going through it with the actual patient. “Dean, I’m afraid I’ve noticed an alarming trend in your memory recently, and I believe you to be going through the initial progression of Alzheimer's Disease.”

Dean gaped, “I’m sorry?”

“Your memory loss is minimal at the moment, however it is a degenerative disease, and over time you will begin to forget parts of your life and knowledge that you now possess.”

Cas tuned him out, watching Dean go through every stage Castiel was already so familiar with: denial, shock, anger, pain, sadness, anguish.

“I’m going to just _forget_? I’m just going to wake up and not know how to drive my Impala? I’ll forget my niece’s birthday?” Dean’s voice was getting louder, “I’ll forget Cas?!”

Dr. Warren held his hands in a placating gesture. “There is no set path of this disease. It’s different for every patient. I have some information brochures here, and numbers for you to call.”

Dean snatched the pamphlets, fury written in his every movement, “I _won’t_ forget.”

“I’m very sorry.” Dr. Warren murmured, and Cas wondered if he was saying it to Dean, or to him. “I’m going to go fill out a request for a CT scan, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He exited the office quietly, the door clicking closed behind him. Dean was struggling to breathe, his fists clenching creases into every pamphlet. Abruptly, he spun to face Cas, eyes wild and hard.

“I _won’t_ forget you.” He said, and Castiel wanted to badly to take it as a promise, but there was no denying the slight question at the end of the words.

Cas reached out, his hand settling on Dean’s cheek. “Dean, it’s okay. We will go home, do some research and talk to some people. This disease could take years to even affect your living. We don’t know.”

Dean’s hand snatched at Cas’, pressing it further into the skin of his face. His eyes slid closed, and he swallowed hard, and Cas only raised his other hand to hold it to the other cheek, bringing his forehead in to rest against Dean’s.

“Dean, come, let me take you home.” Cas whispered.

Dean made a noise in the back of his throat that racked Castiel with pain; a pleading murmur, something that only the worst type of torture could have ever drug from Dean Winchester’s body.

“I don’t want to forget.” 

Cas felt tears spill out of his eyes, but there were no words, no reassurances. He had no power here, on this realm, and his brothers had long ago abandoned him. There would be no healing; no more miracles existed.

“I will remember for you.” Castiel promised fiercely, the words spilling out of his mouth without thought, “I will keep all of your memories, _all_ of them, and I will remind you of everything. I will remind you.”

Dean choked, “I love you.” This was a plea, and Castiel wondered if Dean knew it. This was more than their usual question, the usual amazement Dean had. This was Dean begging him to respond as usual, now that he had a choice. Why stay when he would be forgotten?

“I love you, too.” There would never be another choice.

 

 

_October_

 

Dean didn’t change overnight. There was nothing for days, and Castiel began to doubt the doctor, even as Dean was subjected to various CT scans, and other tests. Then, every once in a while, Dean would forget something. Usually something silly, like the car keys, or his lunch. Something that could be overlooked. Every once in a while it was something bigger, more important. He forgot Sarah’s birthday, and Sam phoned to yell at him for being so neglectful. Castiel had never disliked Sam more than he had in that moment; even when he had been soulless, even when he had jump started the apocalypse, Cas had never truly been angry with him. It had once been Sam’s destiny to do those things, to be that person. 

“You should tell him.” Cas said against Dean’s shoulder, his book forgotten in his lap as they sat in bed. He hated how melancholy Dean was after yet another annoyed phone call from Sam. Sam seemed to be endlessly annoyed at Dean recently, and not only because Dean was forgetting things, but also because he was avoiding him. 

Dean sighed at his words, and Castiel didn’t push the issue. It had been something they had fought about a lot recently. It had been nearly a month since the doctor’s prognosis, and Dean didn’t want to tell Sam, and Cas didn’t want Sam to make Dean feel worse. Really, Sam didn’t know how deeply it hurt Dean every time he called to be annoyed about him forgetting something. Sometimes, Dean hadn’t even forgotten anything, and Sam would call, and immediately Dean would scan the room for Cas, confusion evident on his face. He doubted himself now, doubted that he wouldn’t forget anything.

“No, Cas,” Dean muttered, “he doesn’t need to know.”

“He’ll know eventually.”

Dean turned his head and found his lips against Cas’ dark hair. It tickled, but he didn’t move from the position, comforted by the human smell of shampoo that lingered there. Cas stilled, knowing that Dean was letting Cas win the argument for now, and seeking a distraction.

Hands, gentle, scarred hands, pushed him back against the bedcovers and Cas let his book drop to the floor, reading momentarily forgotten. Dean pressed against him, body warm and familiar and as beautiful as it was the day Castiel first laid eyes upon it. He lifted his hands, trailing them along Dean’s sides until they rested against his shoulders. Dean sighed at the contact, and Cas pushed him until he was looming over Dean’s body, pressed flush against it. He let his hands travel Dean’s chest, nails lightly tracing protective sigils from a time long ago into his skin. They held no power, not any longer, but Castiel couldn’t help it. 

Dean pulled him into a kiss, all slow moving lips and tongue, deep and provocative; different from their first kiss, which had been fury and anger and passion and heartbreak. Cas let himself sink into Dean, so fucking _grateful_ that he still had this, that he had been allowed this for as long as he had. He should have known that it would be stolen from him eventually.

Dean’s lips rasped against his jaw, teeth finding tender skin and tongue smoothing slight hurts. His hips stuttered at the feeling, and Dean let his fingers dig into Cas’ sides, his movements ragged against the arousal flooding through him. It was new, every time, even when they had done this a thousand times, on their bed, against each other. It was always new, but familiar, and so incredible; nothing about Dean ever got boring, even after a millennia of studying the human race.

“Remind me, remind me,” Dean murmured, breath hot against the shell of Castiel’s ear. He slipped deft fingers under Castiel’s boxers, sliding them down as Cas lifted his hips.

“You kissed me first, after we beat Lucifer, you thought you had lost everyone and I was still there and you were so _angry_ it was me and not Sam but you _kissed_ me.” Castiel whispered, broken words that Dean ate up every time, even if he could remember that night or not. “It was angry and awful and we both _hated_ each other for everything, but we couldn’t stop, and all we had was each other. I was so _human_ , and you were so _bright_.” Which had been how they had worked for a year: broken, angry, and desperate for each other.

“I didn’t hate you, I never hated you.” Dean said, tongue tracing the scars he had gotten from the banishing sigil, so long ago.

“I never hated you, either,” Cas confessed, “and when we got Sam back it was all different.”

Dean smirked against his skin, branding him beneath his navel, and then his mouth enclosed over his cock. Cas whines and buries his fingers in Dean’s hair, his words turned to broken mutters, filled with memories and reassurances.

It doesn't last long before Cas seizes up and Dean swallows him whole and the entire world freezes; he’s coming hard and Dean is humming around him, shamelessly grinding against the bedcovers.

There’s no recovery for him before Dean is on him again, mouth pressed against his and begging for entrance. Cas can taste himself and it’s so _hot_ , and he wraps his long fingers around Dean’s cock, jerking him slowly with just the right amount of twist and pressure. Dean’s mouth finds the tendon running along his neck and toys with it mercilessly, leaving red marks. 

“I love you,” Cas says, and it’s a promise.

Dean comes hard in his hand, and collapses against Cas, warm and sticky. Cas doesn’t really mind, not now after so many years, and wraps his arms around Dean to keep him there, even though Dean likes to bring a towel in after and clean them both up. Dean doesn’t move though, keeps his face buried against Cas’ rapid fire pulse while they both cool off.

“Remind me.” Dean’s words are silent against his skin, but Cas knows him well enough to know what he wants.

“I told you I loved you first,” Cas declared, “and I never really stopped saying it.”

They both pretended not to feel the wetness against Cas’ neck when Dean finally answered, “I never stopped feeling it.”

 

 

 

_November_

 

Cas hasn’t been pushed around this much since his days as an actual rebel angel in the apocalypse. In fact, he doubts Sam has been this violent since the days of Ruby, or soul-less-ness. It doesn’t stop him from slamming Castiel into the wall the minute he walks in their front entrance and clenching his hand around Cas’ throat. Cas doesn’t move; Sam’s eyes are wet and _furious_ and Cas suddenly knows exactly what’s happened here.

“I told-”

“Fuck you!” Sam’s vibrating with rage, and Cas wonders for the first time if Sam is actually the less stable brother. “Fuck you, you fucking bastard! Fuck you!” He’s just yelling now, and Cas is a little concerned at what their neighbors might think of this show.

“Sam-”

Sam shakes him, and the fact that he’s easily a foot taller and still built with a ton of muscles even after all these years makes it easy for him. Cas can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he’s drowning, but he’s been drowning since the first prognosis on Dean two months ago.

“Fix him!” Sam screams this at him, face purpling. Cas feels anger storm through him, the first since Sam had manhandled him against the wall. Cas tries to calm himself, tries to remember that Sam is _hurt_ , that Sam has just found out the brother he has lost and given _everything_ for is going to forget him. Cas can’t quite release his anger, but it changes, changes into hysteria and fury and jealousy.

“I _can’t_!” Cas yells back, arm coming up to hit Sam in the solar plexus. He doesn’t do it hard enough to really hurt him, just enough so Sam drops him and loses grasp of the words he probably is ready to throw at him, just for a minute.

“I can’t, I can’t fix him and don’t you think, don’t you _fucking know_ I would have tried!?” Cas is babbling now, words and desperation, “He’s _mine_ too, Sam, he’s perfect and wonderful and _Dean_ , and he’s _mine,_ and I’m going to _lose_ him.”

Sam’s entire face droops, and Cas knows that he has killed his anger with those words. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, two months ago, when you found out?” Sam whispers, and Cas’ heart breaks all over again.

Cas sighs, “I wanted to, Sam. But it was Dean’s choice. He knows how you both are, and there’s no way to fix this.”

Sam just kind of slumps against the wall, folding into the floor with his long lanky legs spread out in front of him. He doesn’t look like a warrior, or Satan’s vessel, or the man who saved the world; he looks like a six year old boy whose just learned his older brother is going to forget about him.

“I yelled at him,” Sam says, “for forgetting things.”

Cas nods, “I didn’t exactly like it, but Dean would rather you yell than look at him like he’s broken.”

Sam’s just nodding now, agreeing even though Cas knows he isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s got that look about him, desperation falling into strategic problem solving --familiar, even though it’s been years. Sam is trying to think of a way out of this, some sort of miracle that can save his brother.

“You can’t always save him. One day you’re going to have to accept that you’re both eventually going to die.”

Sam’s glare is venomous, “What happens when we don’t know where he ends up?!”

Castiel clenches his fists, fury whipping through him again, “Dean will go to heaven, or I will call out every angel in the host. He belongs there. He deserves it.”

“But do I?” Sam’s voice is tiny and pitiful, and Cas hates the angels with a passion he hasn’t felt in a while. Sam Winchester deserved so much more than the hand fate had dealt him; he had chosen good every single time, even when evil had chosen him.

Cas sinks to a crouch and smiles at his brother-in-law and friend, “Of course. Of course you do. Now let me get you something to eat, Dean will be furious if he finds us like this.”

“How has he been? Forgetting anything important?” Sam is striving for nonchalant and caring and he misses the mark by a mile.

Cas knows this is going to be a common conversation the second it starts. He wants to tell Sam it’s all important, from where Dean put the keys to his address to Sam’s name. Everything is important, everything is memories, and Dean is forgetting them.

“He’s good. Today he hasn’t forgotten anything.”

Sam glances at him, “What about the rest of the time?”

Cas shrugs, “Small things mostly. Where he puts his keys, his lunch, what time the shows he likes are on. He forgot how we met the other week. Couldn’t remember who Joanna was named after yesterday. He usually remembers them by the next day, or if you give him enough time.”

“Eventually, though,” Sam’s voice is cautious, “eventually he won’t remember any of it and it won’t come back. No matter how much time we give him, or how many days go by.”

Cas nods. “He can’t remember any of the schools you two ever went to. Can’t remember what he did for his sixteenth birthday. Or any other birthday. I can’t even tell him, I can’t remind him, because _I wasn’t even there_.”

Sam straightens and claps Cas on the shoulder, gently, as though he might crumble under the weight. “I can. I can remember that for him, and you can handle the rest.”

“Tell me.”

Sam sits at his counter and regales him with stories of his and Dean’s childhood; some of them Cas had heard before, but some he hadn’t, and he absorbed them as if it was the most important thing he had ever done. It was, in a way. One day Dean wouldn’t know these things, and Cas wanted to hold onto them, wanted to be able to recall Dean’s fourth grade teacher, or his seventh birthday.

Cas tried not to remember that as he was learning more about Dean, Dean was forgetting more about himself.

 

 

_December_

 

It’s Christmas Eve and Castiel knows that his heart always ends up hurting in a good way every single time the tree comes out, and the presents start to appear, and Robby stops by for a chat more often. He loves the way Dean drags out knitted sweaters to wear, and the house smells like gingerbread cookies, and how Dean corners him at all times a day to kiss him under a newly placed mistletoe.

Cas also loves how Dean and Sam seem to have made up, and how Dean’s shoulders aren’t as tense anymore, as though he’s not as afraid to forget now.

It’s been a good month. The only forgotten things seem to be random; stuff everyone forgets. Buying enough wrapping paper, bringing home eggnog from the store.

Dean is currently sprawled over the couch, his head resting in Castiel’s lap. He’s not sleeping, just content to relax there.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s slowly graying hair.

Dean’s eyes open, “Would you have ever believed we could have this? That we could have a tree, and a family, and a quiet night on a couch?”

Castiel hums, “I never would have believed I could have you.”

Dean’s eyes slide shut and he smiles, “You have me. Forever.”

“I know.” Cas whispers, “I never would have believed I could have you and more. I could have Sam and Robby and Joanna. I could have a house, with wedding photos, and presents for my family under the tree.”

“I’m not scared, you know.” Dean murmurs, his voice barely heard over their soft radio.

Cas manages a smile, even as tears threaten to rise, “You’re never scared.”

Dean glances at him seriously, “I was though. I’ve never been frightened to die, but I’ve always been afraid to lose Sammy, or lose you. More recently, I’ve been afraid of forgetting you, and everything else.” Dean smiles, and it’s sincere but heartbreaking: “But I’m not scared anymore. We had an entire lifetime we never thought we’d get. We had Christmas and Birthdays. We had a honeymoon, and we had a mortgage, and we had more love in our house than most people can ever think of.”

“Oh, Dean.” Cas’ voice breaks, and Dean catches his fingers in his, presses a kiss to the palm of his hand and rests it on his heart.

“I don’t think I could ever really forget you, and if I ever did I know I’ll find you again.”

“You will?” 

He feels the steady heartbeat with his hand, and he hears the smile in Dean’s voice: “Of course. On a Tuesday afternoon of an Autistic man. I’ll be flying a red kite, and I’ll be waiting for you.”

Cas can’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. He can see it: Dean’s grin as he appears, the kite flying away as Dean lets it go, and the way Dean kisses him the same way he did at twenty-eight.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.” Dean whispers, “I’m not afraid. This life is the best gift I’ve ever been given. And you gave it to me.”

 

 

_January_

 

Dr. Warren is kind about it, although firm. Castiel knows that he is a good doctor, and he’s given them the best treatment they could ask for. There’s just nothing around this, there’s no cure.

“He’s deteriorating, Castiel.” Dr. Warren says, “His CAT scans are coming back positive, and it looks like he’s gone downhill in the last few months.”

“He’s been so good, though,” Cas protests, “He barely forgot anything last month.”

Dr. Warren sighs, “I’m afraid you might have had a good month, but it’s only gotten worse recently. He had to quit his job, and if I’m not mistaken you don’t let him drive anymore.”

Cas nods, “He still can, I’m just afraid he’ll forget where he’s going.”

“How did he take that?”

Cas sighs, because that was the biggest sign: “He didn’t really care.”

“That’s a surprise,” Dr. Warren knows Dean fairly well by now, “Dean loves to drive. Loves his car more than almost anything.”

“I know. I think he can’t remember how much he loved it.” Cas admits, “But he’s not bad yet. He remembers the important things. I promise, it’s been a good month, there’s no reason to consider group homes or anything so rash. I will take care of Dean.”

“How are you two... financially?” 

“We’re fine. I can take care of him, I promise, we’ve been safe with money our whole lives, and I have my brother in law helping me.”

Dr Warren nods, “I know that home is the best place for him right now, Castiel, I’m not arguing with you. Taking Dean out of his home could only be detrimental at the moment, since he still remembers you. I just don’t want you to get too stressed, you know your blood pressure is high. Please, when the time comes, please consider a group home for him. He’ll be happy and safe, and you may visit.”

Castiel can do nothing but nod and agree, but he knows that there is no way Dean will ever be anywhere but his home. He spent too much of his life moving around, and Castiel will never be the one to cast him out.

He exits the doctor’s office to find Dean sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine. He looks up as soon as Cas walks in and smiles, setting the magazine down.

“Ready to go?” Cas asks.

Dean nods, “Yeah, let’s get out of here. Sam’s house for dinner, right?”

Cas smiles, “That’s correct. We’ll see Robby and Joanna too.”

“And Jessica.” Dean says. 

Cas winces. Dean does it out of habit now, making sure he can remember his family, but this is the one he messes up the most.

“No, Dean. It’s Sarah.” Cas makes his voice gentle, and Dean scowls, but still takes his hand out of the office.

Dean is silent for most of the ride, but before they can get out of the car outside Sam’s house he says, “It’s okay, you know.”

“Of course it is, Dean, it’s not your fault.” Cas turns to him.

Dean laughs, “That’s not what I meant. I mean, I know that it’s not my fault, but I’m saying it’s okay for you to tell me I’m wrong. It’s not your fault, either. Neither of us chose this, and it sucks, but it’s not our fault. It’s okay. We’re doing our best.”

“You’re right. Let’s go in.” Cas locks the car as they move to the door, Dean a warm presence at his back.

“Is Dad going to be here?” Dean asks.

Cas turns to him, “I’m sorry, Dean, but your father, John, has been gone a long time.”

“He’s dead?” Dean’s eyes narrow, “Are you sure?”

Castiel nods, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Dean snatches Cas’ bicep, just slightly too hard, “And Bobby? Bobby’s coming right?”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas repeats, “He’s also gone.”

The door opens, cutting off all conversation, and Sam invites them in, Dean trailing after Castiel. 

Dinner is delicious, and Dean talks to everyone. Still, there’s melancholy on the air, and Dean mentions John more often than normal. 

The room is filled with Dean’s ghosts, and Castiel thinks that it must be the worst thing in the world to have to relive the pain of losing everyone all over again every time Dean forgets.

 

 

 

_February_

 

 

Dean’s face is flushed red, a broken plate in pieces at Castiel’s slippered feet. Dean is screaming, and it’s two thirty-three in the morning.

“Where am I!?” He screams, and another glass shatters beside Cas’ head.

Smash! “What have you done to Sam!”

Smash! “Where have you taken me?!”

Smash! “This isn’t my home!”

Castiel has never had to use the sedatives Dr. Warren supplied him with before, but he manages to get one into Dean and sink to the floor with him in his arms.

There’s broken glass everywhere, and Castiel thinks that he’s never hated himself or Dean before this moment. He thinks that it’s all broken now, and that Dean can never come back for this, and he doesn’t want to ever get up or clean the dishes or get Dean into bed.

He does all of these things, though, in the end. 

And when Dean wakes up he rolls over and presses his face into Castiel’s shoulder blades, whispering “I love you”. He doesn’t remember the needle, or the plates, or the way Cas’ tears had dripped onto him.

And Castiel hates himself.

 

 

 

_March_

 

 

Dean is sitting on the couch in the dark, huddled under a knitted green blanket. He hasn’t come to bed yet, and Castiel didn’t want to push, but he’s been worried. Dean’s been getting worse, worse every single day. 

“Why are you in the dark?” Cas asks, his voice soft in the darkness. The moon is barely lighting up the hardwood.

“Cas, this thing... this... Alzheimer's. It’s not going to kill me.”

Cas settles into the couch, opposite end. “No. It’s not.”

Dean’s eyes are glinting in the dark, and Castiel thinks it must be tears, “I’ve made a decision.”

Castiel doesn’t want to understand the words, but he does. He does understand them, because he knows Dean. He knew Dean the moment he touched him in hell, and he’s devoted the rest of his life to knowing Dean.

“No... Dean, no.” Cas can’t keep the words inside himself. He can’t hold them back, he can’t be selfless where Dean is concerned.

“Yes, Cas. It’s my choice.” Dean says firmly, “I don’t want to be here when I can’t be me.”

Cas rests his elbows on his knees and cries into his hands in a way he’s never done before, not once. Dean doesn’t come to him, but Castiel doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want him to touch him, he doesn’t want to hear this. In fact, Cas wishes he never knew Dean, could never love him.

He can’t lose him. He can’t live through it.

“Jodi is going to help me. She’ll make sure that you and Sam don’t take the heat for it, that it stays quiet.”

“No.” Cas says, muffled into his hands.

Dean’s voice breaks, “Cas, don’t do this, man. I have to. You know I do.”

Castiel lifts his head, knows that there are tears staining every part of his face, and he doesn’t care. “I don’t know that. I don’t want that. I want you, I want you for every minute I have you.”

This time, Dean does slide over. He grasps Cas’ face in his hands, and his thumbs chase away tears and Cas can see that he has been crying as well. 

“You have me Cas. You have me forever. For every Tuesday afternoon forever.” Dean whispers, “Please, please let me make this choice. I can’t... I can’t do this without you.”

“Dean... don’t ask this of me.”

Dean drops his hands and this time it’s him that drops his head slowly. “Cas. Cas. I need to ask this of you. I need you there. I want you to be there.”

Cas swallows every inch of rage and hate and pain and lets love flow into him. He lets every memory of Dean take over him, and he thinks that maybe he can do this. Maybe he has to.

“How?”

Dean chokes out. “Pills. I have pills.”

This time it’s Castiel who reaches out, and he pulls Dean into him and lets him curl around him. There’s tears soaking his shirt, and there’s a bitterness in his heart that is new, even newer than the disease that’s eating away everything that makes Dean _Dean_.

“I’ll be there, Dean. I’ll help you.”

 

 

_April_

 

Castiel starts praying again.

He’s not entirely sure why — he _hates_ this, and he wonders if that shouldn’t have destroyed his faith more than anything else. It seems like that is the way it goes though; when faced with disaster, religion either becomes a balm or a farce. There is no in between.

For years, Dean had been his religion. He had loved him, trusted him, and believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. Now he was losing Dean, and Castiel wasn’t sure if he was ready to find God again to get through it. He prays though, because he has nothing left to lose once Dean is gone.

Dean starts writing. He writes Sam a letter — to be opened after the… well, when it’s all over. 

He writes one for Robby and Joanna, and he even writes one for Sarah. That’s the only one Castiel was allowed to read, because Dean needed to make sure he hadn’t made any mistakes. 

 It had been the hardest thing Castiel had ever read through — information on how to take care of Sam, how to take care of Cas. Dean had thanked her for making his brother so happy, thanked her for bringing the most beautiful children the Winchester family could imagine into the family. Dean had left no doubts of how much he loved Sarah, how much he approved of her as a sister, and as a friend.

In the end, that’s why they tell Sarah about Dean’s plan. She cries, as expected, but she also remains strong; she pulls herself together and helps Dean hammer out the logistics. She calls Jodi, and spares Castiel the pain of having to deal with the situation before he actually has to _deal_ with the situation.

Castiel spends every night that Dean remembers him wrapped around him, making love to him, kissing him, reminding him.

He spends the other night holding his lax body, crying over another of Dean’s fits, and wondering if he’s making the right choice, letting Dean do this. He wonders if he can survive the choice that Dean is making, and if Jodi will live with herself, and if Sarah will forgive them for dragging her into it.

They don’t tell Sam.

Sarah keeps their secret, and Castiel thinks that she is the strongest Winchester there ever was.

 

 

_May_

 

“Cas, there is something I need to do.” Dean announces one morning, rolling onto Cas’ sleep ridden body and kissing his collarbone. Cas smiles lazily, pleased at how affectionate Dean is being. It’s become more rare, in recent weeks, and Castiel thinks that perhaps Dean has forgotten everything they have shared together. He feels like a stranger in his own home half the time.

“Anything you want,” Castiel tells him, because it’s the truth, and it’s always been true.

Dean smiles into his skin, “I want to tell you about when I convinced you to marry me.”

Castiel laughs a little, “Dean, it hardly took much convincing.”

Dean lifts his head and grins mischievously, “Obviously not, because I am awesome.”

Cas rolls his eyes, “You are ridiculous.”

Dean smiles at him, soft and sweet, the way Cas has almost forgotten he could, “I remember it all, you know — you were wearing navy, and a silver tie, and I thought that I must have done something so seriously _right_ , because you smiled at me the moment you saw me, as if I had brought you the sun just by showing up.”

Castiel closes his eyes and envisions it. It’s true; Dean had looked handsome in his suit, and Castiel had known in that moment more than ever that being an angel just wasn’t important compared to being _Dean_ ’s.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Dean continues, his voice low, “and I knew then that I would never go a day without you. I would live the rest of my life, and I would get to spend every second of it with you.”

Castiel can feel the warm tears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t open his eyes, and he doesn’t open his mouth because it’s so god damn unfair he can’t stand it. 

Dean keeps whispering, “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, look at me, look at me, please, Cas.”

Cas wrenches his eyes open, chokes on words, and finally says, “Dean, I—”

He doesn’t get any farther before Dean is cupping his cheek and crying, “Tell me you don’t regret it, tell me you don’t—”

“No, Dean, no, I don’t, I never —”

“Tell me you love me.” It’s a demand, and this one is easy. It’s always been easy.

Castiel’s words are fierce, “I will spend every second of the rest of my life loving you. I will remind you of it every single day until you are gone,” he chokes, “and then I will spend every day after that reminding myself that the pain of losing you only means that I loved you, and it was more than any man or angel could ever deserve, and I will _live_ with that happily until I see you again.”

Dean nearly crushes him with the weight of his kisses, and Castiel kisses him back, slow and easy until they both manage to push their grief to the side long enough to revel in the fact that they are both alive. They have survived the apocalypse, and demons, and vampires, and monsters; they have died and come back, and they have received more than most.

They make love for the last time.

 

 

_June_

 

Castiel finally knows that the day has come when Dean wakes up one morning and looks him in the eye, and he has no idea who he is. It takes three rounds of sedatives and two drug induced sleeps for Dean to come back to him.

When he does, he puts his face in his hands and weeps.

Castiel holds him, whispering words of love and forgiveness; Dean doesn’t answer, but holds him even tighter, grasping at his soft henley shirt and bruising his skin with fingerprints that will last after Dean is gone.

They pull themselves together as the sun goes down, and Cas makes Dean a last meal. They don’t enjoy it, but neither is willing to cut it short.

“Do you have the pills?” Castiel finally asks after he’s cleaned up all the dishes, and washed the counters, and there is nothing left to do.

Dean smiles, “Yeah, but I have something for you first.” He goes into his office, coming back with a book and a bottle of champagne.

Castiel scowls at the bottle, “You’re kidding. You want to have champagne?”

“Yeah. I do.” Dean says, and then pops the cork, letting the sound echo in their kitchen. Castiel dutifully gets out two champagne flutes, ignoring how surreal the situation has become. 

His husband is going to die tonight.

They are drinking champagne.

Castiel hates everything.

Dean pours him a glass and then sips at his own. He hands Castiel the book, and says, “I made it for you. You can read it or keep it or burn it. I don't care. It’s yours though, for when… well, you know.”

“When you’re gone.” Castiel says. The words are like a nuclear bomb in their kitchen.

Dean doesn’t flinch. “Not gone. Dead. When I’m dead.”

Castiel flinches, “Dean, I…” he doesn’t finish. There is nothing left to say he hasn’t said a thousand times. No more arguments he can offer that he hasn’t already given, or reasons to stay that outweigh the reason to go.

“I want you to go to Sammy’s.”

Castiel freezes and then stares at Dean; the way his eyes are slightly glassy with tears, and his shoulders are stiff with stress. He takes in the way the book Dean had given him is on the counter, and the door to Dean’s office is closed.

It hits him like a freight train — Dean has taken the pills. He’s taken them, and he’s sending Castiel away so Cas doesn’t have to deal with this. Cas thinks about being furious with Dean for even attempting to make him leave, but his anger is nonexistent, because now he’s got a countdown in his head for how long they have left.

“No, you don’t,” Cas says, and drinks the rest of his champagne before finishing, “you want me to stay here. I want to stay here. I belong with you.”

“Yes, you do.” Dean agrees after a second. 

Castiel surges forward then, kissing him hard before pulling back. Dean tastes like home and alcohol, and Castiel wonders if he’ll never taste that again.

Dean pours them one more glass of champagne, and then raises his glass, “To the fullest life anyone could have ever had; it was filled with non stop action, and crazy things, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Cas raises his glass and swallows back what feels like an ocean of tears, “Me neither.”

They drink their champagne, and Dean puts the flutes in the dishwasher, shutting off the light and leading them to the couch, curling up in the spaces they have always taken. The fire is on, but neither of them touch the remote, simply holding on to each other. 

Dean presses his forehead against Castiel’s and says, “Castiel Winchester, I love you.”

“Dean Winchester, I love you, too.” Cas whispers. It feels like the world has fallen away.

Dean locks eyes with him, “I love you. I love you. I feel like there was no me before there was the me that loved you.”

Cas refuses to shut his eyes for longer than a second, just staring into Dean’s, watching as they grow glassier, and a little tired.

Soon, they’ll shut. Soon, they’ll never open again.

“In the entire history of the universe, there was nothing in this world that mattered until you,” Cas whispers, “and that will remain true for the entirety of time.”

Dean smirks, “I’m a big deal.”

Cas can’t even laugh, because it’s so fucking true. Dean is a big deal. The biggest deal. The most important man on this planet, the most important person Castiel will ever know, and he’s _dying_.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, “I’m scared.”

Castiel used to wonder why humans called it ‘heartbreak’. He had realized though, many different times during the course of him falling from grace, just what they meant. The painful ache in your chest, something so fundamental and cruel there was no medical term, only an emotional one.

Still, Castiel has never felt anything like the rending and tearing his heart has in that moment. It’s like his grace is ripping out of him all over again, and there is absolutely nothing he can do.

But, for Dean — always for Dean — he forces himself to be stronger, “Why? There are a million more Tuesday afternoons waiting for us.”

Dean shuts his eyes, and his voice is slurred when he murmurs, “I guess I’ll see you there.”

Castiel doesn’t let him go, not until he can’t see a single hint of light outside other than the moon, and even then all he does is pull out his phone and call Jodi. He doesn’t say a word, but he knows she’ll be here soon.

Dean Winchester dies in his sleep in the arms of Castiel Winchester on a Tuesday afternoon in May. There is absolutely nothing special about the day, other than the fact that when Dean was finally taken away in the back of an ambulance, a dark sheet over the face that Castiel loves so much, Castiel hears the voices of his brothers and sisters for the first time in years.

They are crying, and Castiel cries with them.

 

July

 

Castiel doesn’t speak at the funeral, and Sam delivers a speech that brings everyone in the hall to tears. More people than expected come out, and Castiel shakes hands with all of them and soaks up the stories of Dean.

When it’s all over, he goes home to an empty house and a freezer full of casseroles.

 

August

 

 

It gets better. Not much, but Sam comes over once a week for a beer, and Castiel tries to remind himself that they are both lost without Dean, and no one has forgotten him.

He still cries himself to sleep every night, wrapped in blankets where he used to be wrapped in Dean.

 

September

 

Robby and Joanna drag him out to lunch every week, and Sarah goes with him grocery shopping, even though he hardly needs it. Sam still comes for beers, and Castiel thinks about the fact that even though he’s lost Dean, he still has a family. He still has more than any angel has ever deserved, and he has so many memories.

He remembers a thousand dinners shared with Dean, and laughter over stupid jokes, and dancing to music he didn’t know the words to. He remembers the fights, and the passion, and the anger of the first few years. He remembers the love, and the desperation, and green eyes.

Castiel starts his life again, in tiny increments that he thinks Dean would be proud of.

Exactly one year to the day that Dean was diagnosed, Castiel drags the book that was Dean’s final gift to him out from it’s hiding spot under their bed.

Inside, he reads all the letters Dean wrote to him, a few dated from before they got together, some from the year when they thought Sam was dead; these ones are filled with rage and despair, but they ring of truth and Castiel still loves them. There are some from when they got together, and when they got Sam back, and even some from their wedding. These ones are happier, written on cleaner paper, and Castiel remembers how scared they had been those first few years. 

The first letter after their wedding is dated the same day Dean was diagnosed. Castiel reads over it quickly before he flips the page and realizes that Dean had written him a letter every single day after that initial diagnoses.

Every letter is filled with a story — memories that Dean was compiling, some of them familiar to Cas, and some brand new. Some are versions of the memories Sam had helped him with, but told from Dean’s point of view.

There are hundreds of letters, and Castiel doesn’t even get through a third before he can’t read anymore because his head hurts and he’s tired. He’s not even crying — not anymore, not right now. He’s overwhelmed, and he thinks that perhaps he’ll cry later, collapse in a ball and try to get through the pain of losing Dean, but right now he’s just… he’s just full. Full of love and memories and pain and happiness and despair and rage.

The last letter is the hardest.

 

_Cas,_

 

_I have written and rewritten this letter a thousand times and I still can’t get it right. So, instead, I would like to leave you with a memory, because recently those are my most precious items._

 

_My father, one of the few times he was sober and rational enough to talk about my mother, said something that I deemed irrelevant at the time. We were discussing the scariest things he had ever seen. He told me: ‘the most terrifying thing you will ever face is the realization that the person you love the most is the one with the power to destroy you.’_

 

_I don’t know if you remember — two weeks after Sam came back we were fighting. I don’t remember why, it was just a stupid fight, and you were so angry. For the first time ever, you got up and walked out, which was normally my signature move._

 

_It was worse being the person left behind than the person leaving, and I realized what I had been doing every single time I left you. It nearly killed me, to think you wouldn’t come back to me._

_But you did — you came home, and you said sorry, and I couldn’t figure out what I had done to make you stay. You told me you loved me for the first time that night, and I knew two things. One, I loved you more than anything else, and two, I would never leave you._

 

_The first has remained true for the entirety of my life — but the second… well, I know that I will die in your arms, and I will be the one leaving you. Castiel, know that this is not my choice, and I would fight a thousand demons if it meant that I could stay with you._

 

_I love you, forever and ever, for a million Tuesday afternoons and more._

 

 _Dean._  

 

There is a folded red kite tucked into the next page, and Castiel can’t bring himself to take it out yet. But he will, he knows, and maybe he’ll take Sam with him when he finally gets to fly it at the park. He’ll explain what it means, and he’ll smile; he’ll recant stories of Dean that make him laugh, and life will get easier.

Castiel sets the book on his nightstand and curls into bed, breathing in deeply through his nose. 

“I love you, too.” Castiel whispers into the silence.

The words are a promise.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired partially by The Notebook and [Alone on the Water by MadLori. ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6914974/1/Alone-On-the-Water)The warnings include: mentions of Sam being dead (he isn't), early onset alzhiemer's, super sadness, angry Dean, suicide, death, sedating people, and... that's it?


End file.
